


Just a City Boy

by zanzibar



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: A love letter to JLA, M/M, but also mostly sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 10:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10242758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanzibar/pseuds/zanzibar
Summary: "Someday he’s going to write a Player’s Tribune letter to his younger self and he’s not sure what younger-Zach will be more surprised by, that he plays in the NHL or that he’s going home tonight with his childhood best friend turned boyfriend."In which Zach Werenski saysanothergoodbye to The Joe.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title stolen from Journey - because this is one of my favorite traditions in hockey -
>
>> Nothing but love, [@JoeLouisArena](https://twitter.com/JoeLouisArena). [#LGRW](https://twitter.com/hashtag/LGRW?src=hash) [pic.twitter.com/lhMVBr0RUc](https://t.co/lhMVBr0RUc)
>> 
>> — Detroit Red Wings (@DetroitRedWings) [January 19, 2017](https://twitter.com/DetroitRedWings/status/821932813989662720)  
> 

It’s shockingly easy. Zach mentions to the beats that he had dinner at his grandparents house (true), saw Dylan (also true) and stayed with his parents last night (false). Fifty games into the season it feels like he’s perfected the “two truths and a lie” process that offers just enough information without the entire truth. Somehow it’s become the thing that works best when he’s doing media. 

He walks out of the Joe post-game with a somewhat staggering group of family members who were in the stands for him tonight. It’s wild if he stops to think about it, he played his last game at The Joe. Ice that he’s always thought of as his own, ice that he said hello at six years old and goodbye to as a steady player in the NHL. Someday he’s going to write a Player’s Tribune letter to his younger self and he’s not sure what younger-Zach will be more surprised by, that he plays in the NHL or that he’s going home tonight with his childhood best friend turned boyfriend. 

Dylan’s laugh echoes through the night as they walk toward their cars, he’s mixed in the group somewhere toward the back, gameday suit post-game rumpled and a beanie pulled low over his eyes, talking animatedly to his dad and one of Zach’s uncles.

Zach holds Dyan’s hand as they drive through the familiar streets of downtown Detroit, post-game fatigue and Dylan-proximity contentment settling into his bones.

Dylan’s room is full of the combined detritus that Zach recognizes from sharing a dorm room and a travelling hockey array of hotel rooms. Zach’s suitcase is propped in the corner, clothes folded in neat stacks, while the sleeve of a tshirt and a pair of mistmatched socks hang over the edge of Dylan’s hamper.

Zach toes off his shoes and sheds his jacket, he sits on the bed to unbutton a couple of buttons on his shirt and settles back on his elbows to watch while Dylan scuttles around the room pulling off his tie and disappearing into the closet. When he appears again he has on a pair of flannel pants, frayed at the cuffs, and his shirt is unbuttoned, tails floating behind him.

Zach swallows at the sight of him, in the flesh, close enough to touch for once. “C’mere,” 

Dylan walks over to stand in the vee of Zach’s legs, his knees bumping against the edge of the mattress, hands warm through the thin fabric of Zach’s dress pants. Zach reaches up to push the shirt off his shoulders and onto the floor. Slides his hands up and under his white undershirt, bunching it higher and higher until Dylan gets frustrated and yanks it over his head. Zach presses his mouth against Dylan’s bellybutton and Dylan sucks in a shaky breath, hands sliding up Zach’s arms to anchor on his shoulders.

“Love you,” Zach whispers, sliding his arms around Dylan’s waist to pull him onto the bed. Yesterday once they were finally alone they were practically too frantic to even get their clothes off, tonight it’s different. The urgency is still there, buzzing just under his skin, the reminder that this is temporary, Zach has to get up early and have breakfast with his parents before he meets the team at the airport and it will be months before they have 2 nights in a row together. 

Dylan plucks at Zach’s shirt until he gets the message and stands up, unbuttoning his shirt quickly. He tosses it unseeing toward the open suitcase and makes swift work of his pants until he’s the one standing in front of Dylan in nothing but his boxer briefs. “Love _you_ ,” Dylan threads their fingers together, pressing them against the warm skin of Zach’s hip. Zach leans down to kiss Dylan, the angle terrible for both of their necks but unimportant when compared to the opportunity to kiss Dylan as much and as often as possible.

Dylan kicks his pants off and in the general direction of the foot of his bed and scoots back to rest his head on the pillows. He quirks an eyebrow and waits while Zach knee-walks into the center of the bed.

Dylan wraps his arms around Zach’s shoulders, holding himself up until Zach laughs against his lips and grips his thighs. Tugging him down until he can wrap a leg around Zach’s hips, their bodies grinding together, Zach suspended over him arms bracketing his head, Dylan’s midseason lean lankiness bracketed against Zach’s finely packed, raw strength.

Zach kisses him again, pressing their bodies more closely together until they’re both arching into the press of warm skin and Dylan’s sliding his hands over the muscle definition in Zach’s back, tickling until Zach can’t handle the touch anymore and grabs his hands to press above his head.

Dylan arches his body against the restraint. Zach leans back to take a minute and appreciate the flush working its way down his chest, the trademark redness that he knows Dylan hates and Zach can’t help but follow with his lips and his tongue. Dylan kicks him in the kidney when Zach worries his teeth against a nipple and Zach retaliates by collapsing all of his weight onto Dylan’s chest, relishing Dylan’s “oof” of surprise. 

“What do you want,” Zach mumbles into the side of Dylan’s neck, mindful of the game they’d both played a few short hours before and the games they’ll play the rest of this week, the rest of this season. Too cognizant of the tired ache in his bones warring with the present warmth of Dylan tucked beneath him.

“I want you to fuck me." Zach buries his face in the pillow to smother his groan, pulling back to press their lips together hard and desperate, fucking his tongue into Dylan’s mouth and nipping at his bottom lip the way he always imagines doing when Dylan’s on the other side of the phone.

Dylan ducks under Zach’s arm to dig in the same battered nightstand he’s had since he lived at his parent’s house, Zach stands up to push his underwear down his legs and shove the covers off the foot of the bed. 

Zach takes the opportunity to grope Dylan, hands sliding around to wrap around his ass, all that winter white skin too much of a tease to just let pass him by. “Hey no,” Dylan pushes him away, “I have a plan here.” He drops the lube and a condom on the bed and lays back down on his back watching expectantly until Zach comes to settle between his legs.

“A plan, huh,” Zach slides a hand up the ticklish thin skin of Dylan’s thigh and grins as Dylan tries to lay still and not wiggle until he has Zach’s hands where he wants them. “Wanna fill me in?”

Dylan snorts a little and a smile lights up his face. “Got a joke?” Zach asks tracing a finger slowly around the tip of his dick until Dylan hisses and presses his head back against the pillows. 

“You were saying,” Zach grins, catching the drops of precome with his finger and returning to the light, teasing touch.

“I don’t want to fill you in, I want you to fill me up,” Dylan’s spits out quickly, his laugh swallowed by a gasp and he kicks a heel against Zach’s hip. “Please touch me Z,” Zach grins and trails his hand down the Dylan’s length.

“I like touching you,” Zach says thoughtfully, like they’re having a conversation about shootout moves or gapped up defense, instead of naked in Dylan’s bedroom.

“I like it too,” Dylan finishes with a moan as Zach squeezes tighter and adds the twist of his wrist he knows Dylan prefers. Sliding a hand across the sheets to grab the lube while he keeps a slow, steady rhythm.

Dylan tips his head back down just as Zach slides a finger in and he can’t help but arch his back, to stretch and push into the intrusion. Listening as Zach’s breath catches and his finger twists just a little, a prelude of what’s to come.

It’s a dichotomy that Zach can’t help but consider with one half of his brain as he watches Dylan grind against his fingers. Lately it’s Dylan’s fingers in Dylan, Zach nothing more than a willing observer on the other side of a laptop screen, the angle always awkwardly too much face and not enough ass or too much ass and not enough face. But here he can touch, he can slide his free hand up Dylan’s side and rest his hand at the center of Dylan’s chest, where his heart beats fast and sure and maybe the best reminder of how real this is.

And soon it’s all real and three of Zach’s slick fingers are tucked inside Dylan, methodically stretching and sliding and twisting while Dylan grinds down, his body warm and imperfect and everything Zach’s wanted since he looked across the locker room when he was sixteen and found himself thinking why not, instead of why.

Zach holds the condom in his teeth while he slides his fingers free. Dylan sits up and flips open the cap on the lube. He presses Zach’s shoulder until he’s the one laying down, Dylan bats his hands away and smooths the condom down with his lubed hand, swinging a knee over to straddle Zach’s legs.

Zach sits up for a minute to wrap his arms around Dylan’s waist and press his face against his shoulder. Twirling his fingers into Dylan’s unruly curls and tugging as he pushes his tongue into Dylan’s mouth.

“Like this,” Zach presses into Dylan’s mouth, hands wrapped around his ass as they rock together. Dylan hums in agreement and slips his tongue back against Zach’s

Zach presses a finger into the dip of Dylan’s hip, holding him as Dylan guides himself down onto Zach’s dick. Dylan hisses through the burn until his ass rests on Zach’s thighs, his dick trapped between their stomachs, Zach’s lips pressed against his temple.

Dylan rolls his hips, a slow, dirty grind, while Zach cups his ass and holds on for the ride, his vision swimming with pleasure.

They roll at some point, Zach pressing his lips to the thin skin of Dylan’s ankle when he slides it to rest on his shoulder, pressing back in slow and deliberate so Dylan feels every inch until Zach’s all the way inside and he can lean down and hold him close and kiss his lips and press kisses against the marks he left on Dylan’s neck, the flushed skin of his cheeks, while Dylan wraps his legs around Zach’s waist, tucks his face against the skin of Zach’s neck and breathes him in.

“Good?” Zach leans back to ask and Dylan nods, folding forward to crush their lips together when Zach starts slowly rocking against him, the languid movements betraying the urgency burning in his belly. Dylan gasps when one particularly hard thrust hits him exactly right and he presses his fingers tight against Zach’s side and arches back to match his pace.

Dylan moans again, tosses his head back against navy sheets, his neck an engraved invitation to Zach’s mouth, for him to bite at the pale skin, marking Dylan low enough that everyone won’t see, but obvious enough that some will. Zach knows it’s irresponsible, but he can’t help the rush of arousal at the tangible reminder that he’s allowed, he gets to have this, Dylan wearing his mark, the shape of his mouth just inches from Dylan’s heart.

Dylan is pressing back, meeting Zach’s hips, setting a rhythm that’s welcome and familiar. Zach squeezes his eyes shut for a second, because he knows that if he adds a little pop of his hips to the grind on the downstroke he’ll be aiming perfectly for Dylan to come apart. He wants that suddenly, so intensely that he’s almost light-headed with it, to press together until there’s nothing left, until they can’t be any closer, until there’s no question that Dylan is here, flushed and alive under him. 

Zach wrinkles his forehead again and manages to find the perfect rhythm, thrusting deep enough that Dylan’s toes curl against the sheets. Zach’s mind wanders to the hundreds of times they’ve done this, the familiarity unexpected after so much time apart. He hopes Dylan’s going to leave the half-moon indents of his fingernails in Zach’s skin, something he can see in the shower, something to remind his that this is still real, even when they’re miles apart.

He can tell Dylan is close, can trace it in the flush curling down his chest, in the way his legs have barely started to tremble, the way his mouth now runs unchecked. “Zach – oh fuck, yes,” Dylan arches his back, platitudes muffled in the pillows. “Want you so much, all the time, love you.” Zach presses a kiss in the middle of his chest, spreads his legs to make a more solid base and drives deep enough for Dylan to cry out, fists clenched as he struggles to find his breath. Zach wraps his hands around Dylan’s waist and lifts him just a little, adjusting the angle to deepen his thrusts, sweat sliding down his spine as Dylan’s eyes pop open and his fingernails scrabble uselessly against his shoulders. “Love you,” Zach breathes out. 

Dylan nods, frantic almost, pulling at slippery skin until he can yank him down for a kiss, sloppy and open-mouthed, tongues twisting together until all Zach can taste is Dylan, until his blood hums and it feels like his heart beats the rhythm of Dylan’s name. He’s thrusting fast, hitting that spot over and over and over, lighting Dylan up from within, feeling the pleasure gather at the base of his spine until with a loud moan Dylan throws his head back and comes, hard.

It takes two more thrusts before Zach comes too, Dylan’s name torn from his chest, his arms shaking unconsciously and it’s almost too intense, almost too much. Zach tucks his face in the hollow of Dylan’s neck, ignores the mess and collapses down to press Dylan into the mattress, sliding his lips lazily against the flushed skin of Dylan’s neck until he can breathe again. Until he doesn’t feel like he’s going to shake out of his skin. Dylan draws a deep breath and cups the back of his neck, scritches a hand through his hair and sighs.

They lie there, until their breath synchronizes and slows, before Zach slides out and pressing an apologetic kiss to Dylan’s shoulder at his gasp, pulling him up to drag to the shower, arm wrapped around his waist as they rinse off, unwilling or unable to let go.

Back in bed they curl together, Zach tucked around him from behind, Dylan reaching around to pull Zach’s arm over until his back is pressed tight against his chest.

“Love you,” Dylan’s chest rumbles under Zach’s arm.

“Love _you_ ,” Zach presses a kiss against the back of his head and falls asleep surrounded by the familiar sounds of the city and the boy he loves.


End file.
